


The Other Brigadier

by RoystonJ



Category: Rivers of London - Ben Aaronovitch
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2020-08-12 03:00:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20135845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoystonJ/pseuds/RoystonJ
Summary: Based in the 'Rivers of London' series after 'The Furthest Station', this introduces a senior army officer and details his relationship with the Folly.Following the death of my cat Watson on New Year's day ('put to sleep' to end his suffering) I have decided to dedicate this story to him.





	1. The Brigadier.

Brigadier George LeForth waited while Major-General Newlee finished his telephone call, and looked over the senior officer's desk. On the corner closest to him, in front of a stack of files, were a couple of model tanks; a British Centurion along with a Swedish 'S' tank.  
“I'm sorry to have kept you waiting, George,” Newlee told him after finishing the call. “But I had to take it. We need to take you away from the Cybersecurity team for hopefully just a few weeks, for something just as much up your street.”  
“Oh, somewhere exotic, sir?”  
Newlee laughed. “I'm sorry, you'll be staying in London for this one. It does involve something special, though.”  
“Special?”  
“Yes. I seem to remember that you have read quite a bit of science fiction.”  
“I still do.”  
“That's good, it will make it easier to take in some of the things you will be dealing with. We are putting you in charge of a small team planning for what might be described 'unusual threats' to the United Kingdom -this file will give you your briefing.” As Newlee said this he handed George a folder. “I'll introduce you to your team tomorrow afternoon but you will need to attend the Met's Special Assessment Unit to be made 'Falcon' aware in the morning.”  
“I've not heard of Falcon before.”  
“No, very few people have. It covers all aspects of magic.”  
“Magic?” George said after a pause. “Are you serious?”  
“Yes, very much so.” Newlee said as he passed a slim red file to George. “This will give you an appreciation, I'll need it back before you leave this evening. You will be meeting DCI Nightingale at the SAU in Russell Square; he is the last official practitioner in the country although he has an apprentice. He is opposed to the military use of magic but he will give you a briefing.”  
“Should I wear 'civvies'?”  
“Yes, I think that would be in order. A Regimental tie might be appropriate.”  
George sat and read through the red file. Its title -'Briefing notes on FALCON'- and security classification 'Top Secret/Cosmic' made it sound like a new weapon or a military operation. In fact it gave an overview of the Special Assessment Unit and its head, DCI Thomas Nightingale, along with his 'apprentice' Peter Grant.

The following morning George dressed in a smart grey pinstripe suit, a white shirt and his blue MOD tie, and then put the folder of briefing notes into his canvas shoulder-bag along with his work smartphone and a few other odds and ends. As he used the Underground to get to the Main Building he normally wore civilian clothes and changed into uniform when he arrived, but today he travelled on to Russell Square. It was a short walk to the building known as 'The Folly' and he self-consciously adjusted his tie before ringing the doorbell. The door was opened straight away by a tall, elegant, grey-haired man wearing a smart three-piece suit.  
“Good morning; you must be Brigadier LeForth.” He said.  
“I am indeed, sir.” replied George as he shook the proffered hand.  
“I am Detective Chief Inspector Nightingale, do come in.”  
George followed Nightingale into the building and when they came to a central atrium Nightingale introduced him to the two people standing there.  
“Brigadier, this is my assistant Detective Constable Grant, and our housekeeper Molly.”  
“Good morning.” George said to both of them. He took in the incongruous trio's appearance; an immaculately dressed elegant man about six foot tall appearing to be in his late forties, a casually dressed young man of Afro-European background who was slightly taller, almost as tall as George but not so broad; and a slender woman -perhaps in her thirties or forties- wearing an Edwardian maid's dress with long black hair half-way down to her waist.  
“Brigadier, would you care for some tea?”  
“Yes please, that would be very nice.”  
“Molly, would you please make some tea for us.”  
Molly nodded, and glided out to her kitchen.  
“Brigadier, do take a seat.”  
“Thank you, sir.”  
“Is that a Combined Operations tie you are wearing?”  
“No, it is the old 'informal' Ministry of Defence emblem.”  
Peter took off his jacket and sat on the small sofa, leaving the two armchairs to Peter and George, before speaking.  
“Now, magic has been around for a very long time but the first person to really study the field and codify it was Sir Isaac Newton. All of our current spells originate from his work but, as Peter here has done, existing spells can be combined in various ways to produce different effects.”  
“I take it that they can be harmful?”  
“Oh yes, an impello can be used to push hard or to hit with a blow, and a fireball is just as it sounds; I have rendered a Tiger tank a wreck with one.” Nightingale then gave George a history of magic, although he avoided his involvement in the Second World War.  
“Would it be out of place to ask for a demonstration -to move some objects for me?” George asked.  
“Not at all -ah, here is our tea.”  
Molly had appeared as if out of nowhere with a tray. She placed cups in front of the three men along with some slices of cake.  
“Thank you, Molly.” George said. “Ah, some Battenburg, that looks very tempting.”  
Molly just nodded and left the room, her black dress swishing behind her.  
“What objects did you have in mind?” Nightingale asked.  
“These.” George said as he took a selection of large dice from his bag, all of them 30mm across.  
Nightingale looked at the dice and picked one up. “Hmm, steel. I think Peter and I can give you a demonstration. Do you have anything electronic with you?”  
“I have my mobile and my work smartphone but they are both switched off.”  
“You'll need to remove the batteries, magic has nasty effects on solid state electronics that are powered up. Oh, what about your watch?”  
“My watch is an old Seiko mechanical self-winder -no batteries to run out at an inconvenient time.” George replied with a smile as he removed the battery from his smartphone he then produced his penknife; selecting the large screwdriver he opened the back of his small yellow-and-black mobile. Peter raised his eyebrows at this before he noticed the rubber seal around the battery cover.  
“Ah, Peter and I both have mechanical watches for this very reason.”  
Nightingale then lined the dice up at one end of a long wooden table and gestured for Peter to stand at the other end.  
“This will be a slightly complex impello, Brigadier, to handle the dice together without jostling them. Are you ready, Peter?”  
“I am.”  
The line of dice slid along the table and dipped slightly as they passed off the end, before they rose under Peter's control, and gracefully described a slow parabola back to Nightingale. He held them in the air for a moment while George watched them, open-mouthed in amazement. “Catch, Brigadier,” he said before passing them one-by-one to George. George was able to catch each one and place them in turn on the coffee table.  
“Was that an adequate demonstration, Brigadier?” Nightingale asked.  
“Very much so, thank you. Actually the dice are of different materials although almost the same weights, so I know you haven't used magnets.”  
“What are they made of, Brigadier?” Peter asked.  
“Well, this one is polished granite, this one is foil-lined wood with a lead core, and these two are aluminium with off centre lead cores. Try rolling them, they are distinctly biased!”  
Peter and Nightingale both tried and were soon reduced to laughter by the dice's behaviour.  
“I must remember not to play dice games with you, Brigadier!”  
“Call me George, please. You warned me that magic can damage electronic equipment, what sort of distance is this over; I mean inches, feet, yards...chains?”  
“Well, it does depend on the power of the spell, but I don't think it would affect anything a chain distant. Peter here has been doing some research into these effects.”  
“Er, how long is a chain?” Peter asked.  
“Twenty two-feet or about seven metres,” George told him, “Ten chains to a furlong, eight furlongs to a mile.”  
“Yes, there wouldn't be much effect at that distance. Of course it depends on the strength of the spell as well as what the equipment is made of; integrated circuits suffer more damage than discrete components, and valves seem unaffected.” Peter told him.  
“That is interesting, it sounds like a mini EMP then -an electro-magnetic pulse. I think it deserves further investigation.”  
“It only affects equipment that is powered up.” Peter added.  
“Well, we would be happy to assist you. Now , would you care to see a fireball or two?” Nightingale asked.  
“Yes, I would,” George replied, “But surely not in here.”  
“No, we have a suitable room downstairs; follow me.”  
George followed Nightingale and Peter down to their firing range and watched as each in turn cast a fireball at a target; after the second one, Peter used his 'party trick' water bomb to extinguish the burning embers of the target.  
“Very impressive. I like the water bomb, that would be very useful for stopping someone in their tracks without the risk of injuring them. Are you able to control the size of the fireballs? I suppose I am asking if there are standard sizes.” George said, and after a pause he continued, “Is it just me or is there a scent of sandalwood? I thought I smelt it earlier upstairs.”  
“There are often smells or sensations connected with spell casting or their casters but normally only practitioners can sense them.” Nightingale told him. “Fireballs of various sizes can be created but there isn't the equivalent of, say, a 'number 3' fireball. Has this demonstration been of help to you?”  
“Yes it has. I understand your reticence to get involved with the military; from my point of view we just need to understand the possible threats to the United Kingdom and work out ways of protecting the population.”  
“You know about Ettesburg and the Black Archive then?” Nightingale started to walk back to the Atrium and George followed him.  
“Only that its retrieval was done at a great cost of life. I understand you have the Archive in a secure place.”  
“I do,” Nightingale replied, his face and voice becoming stern. “But I will not let you or anyone else see it.”  
“My apologies, sir. I am not seeking access to it, I am just surprised you didn't destroy it given its background.” George said as they started to walk back to the atrium.  
Nightingale's expression softened. “Unfortunately the documents themselves have themselves become magic in an unpleasant way, and trying to destroy them would have serious...shall we say 'fall-out'”.  
“I see. I am put in mind of the scene at the end of the first Indiana Jones film where the Ark is being wheeled into a vast repository, with the implication that no-one will ever find it.” The two men stopped in the corridor.  
“Yes, that is a good metaphor. The Germans had followed up the work that the Vikings had done, harnessing the power of a dying animal to 'power' a booby trap, except they used human beings.”  
“The horrors of man's inhumanity to man.” George said. He paused for a moment before continuing. “I have seen film of the nerve gas tests they carried out on concentration camp inmates.” They looked at each other contemplating the horrors of the concentration camps, before completing their return.  
By the time they had reached the atrium Molly had refilled the tea cups. As they sat down Nightingale continued, “You should also know that there are two other sorts of occupants of this country that have abilities in the magical field. First are the Fae who are not really human; they keep largely to themselves and will not normally interfere with us, but there are also the Genius Loci, they are the spirits associated with natural things; for example there are two for the river Thames. Father Thames gets his power from the river above Teddington weir and Ma Thames below. They have normal human form and do interact with our world and deserve our respect.”  
George drank some of his tea before replying. “There is a small stream at the bottom of my garden which flows into the Thames. I feel even more glad now that I regularly fish rubbish out of it!”  
“If it has a Genius Loci then it will appreciate your actions, but I can't promise it will necessarily have noticed.”  
“Can anyone learn how to cast spells or does it take an innate ability?”  
“Well some people take to it better, there were practitioners in my family but young Peter has none, he has just learnt from my teaching.”  
“I see, thank you for taking the time to explain this to me. I might need to contact you, could you you let me have your phone numbers?”  
“Yes of course.” Nightingale fished a business card out of his waistcoat pocket. “You can use either of our mobile numbers; if you want to use e-mail then I would suggest you use Peter's as he is always checking it.”  
“Thank you.”  
Peter watched George put the batteries back in his phones. “Is your phone something special? It looks as if it is made by JCB.”  
“Sort of, it is a rugged phone but a cheap version I picked up in an Aldi store; it is supposed to be waterproof and shock resistant and it has certainly survived me handling it roughly for four years.” He turned back to Nightingale, “Could you thank Molly for the excellent Battenburg, I've never tasted one with such delicate lemon and cherry sponge before!”  
“I will certainly pass on your thanks, she does like her cooking to be appreciated.”

After George had left Nightingale turned to Peter. “Could you spend a little time to see if you can produce one or more standard sizes of fireball for the Brigadier, I suspect he will want to test the effects on electronic equipment. We must make sure he gives you a copy of any results if he does so, it will probably help in the research you are doing.”  
“I will. Did he sense your _signare?_ I thought only practitioners could do that, or someone with their own magic.”  
“Now that, Peter, is an interesting question. It may be that he can sense magic users in the same way that the Genius Loci can, as you know with the friendly chats you have had with Lady Ty. I think I shall investigate his background, he may turn out to be a natural.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second instalment of the adventures of Brigadier George LeForth.

George went back to Main Building to report to Major-General Newlee, and be introduced to his staff, in one of the secure meeting rooms.  
“This is Colonel Whyte, Group-Captain Thwaites, Commander Miller, Major Watson and last but not least, Corporal Percival.”  
George then gave them a run-down of what had happened at the Folly, Newlee knew what to expect but the others were incredulous, even when George displayed the dice that had flown in front his own eyes.  
“Did they wear pointy hats?” Corporal Percival asked.  
“No, they did not,” George said, trying not to laugh. “The DCI was even more smartly dressed than I was, and the Detective Constable was just how you'd expect a junior detective to dress.”  
“Was Molly still wearing her uniform?” Newlee asked.  
“Yes, she was. They made an incongruous trio.”  
“Right, don't get bogged down with magic, you have many other possible threats to deal with. George, can you let me have an update every Friday lunchtime, and we can discuss when you are able to make a full report. Oh, yes, building services have allocated you bay thirteen on the third floor, and should have moved your desk pedestals round for you by now. Good luck!”  
As he left the room he handed a small file of briefing notes to George.  
The six of them then spent the next hour bouncing ideas off each other while they still had use of the room, from alien invasions to epidemics, from earthquakes and tsunamis to volcanic eruptions. When they reached the office section that had been set aside for them, they found that the building services team had contrived to make it secluded by the careful use of cabinets, bookcases and potted plants without making it obvious; an impressive task given that most of the floor was open-plan.  
After their lunch break Commander Miller asked if anyone wanted a decent coffee.  
“I certainly do,” George told him, “Café Fresco do a marvellous 'Black Tie' -it's Thai tea with a double espresso.”  
“Right, that's us two sorted. You three?”  
The others told Miller what they wanted and he set off.  
“Is there really a coffee called 'Black Tie?” Percival asked.  
“Google it.” George told him as he walked over to the Corporal's desk. Lowering his voice* he continued, “When we do a coffee run order what you want, when it's your turn to get them one of us, probably me, will give you the money. I don't expect you to fund officers' coffee drinking on your Corporal's pay.”  
When Miller returned with the coffees he told the team that Café Fresco were offering a small discount for those turning up with re-usable cups.   
“Well,” George said, “I am obliged to support such ecologically friendly moves; I'll have to find a suitable cup and bring it in tomorrow.” He saw the look of concern on Corporal Percival's face and stroked the side of his nose; Percival caught the sign and nodded an acknowledgement.  
That evening he looked for a pair of of mugs but found three, and put them ready for the morning before settling down to read the notes he had been given about Major Watson and his PTSD.  
The following day he waited for Percival's 'Good Morning, Sir' before telling him to come to his desk. “I looked out for a coffee mug last night and I also found this -would you like it?” George held the cup up, and Percival broke into a broad grin.  
“Thank-you, sir. I shall treasure it!” He showed it to the others. “I'm Captain Scarlet!”  
As the officers laughed George turned to his colonel, “And I have the ideal mug for you.”  
Andrew took it from George and grinned, “Colonel White -perfect.”  
“I'm sorry I couldn't find any for you.” he said to the others.  
“Did they ever make mugs with any of the Angels?” Thwaites asked.  
“They must have done.”  
“I'll have to find myself a 'Rhapsody'.”  
“What's your mug?” Andrew asked him.  
“Something very different.” George replied holding it up.  
“Mornington Crescent?” Miller said.  
“Are you a player?” Percival asked.  
“Yes,” George replied, “I was Aldershot champion in 1993.”  
The four officers looked bemused at this.

George's team had finished a morning conference in one of the break-out areas, and had just returned to their desks when the normal quiet was broken by the crash of a stack of boxes falling from a trolley. With a partly-suppressed yelp Major Watson hurled himself under his desk.   
George waited for a moment before speaking. “Roll call -Whyte?”  
“Here.”  
“Thwaites?”  
“Here.”  
“Miller?”  
“Okay.”  
“Percival?”  
“Here.”  
“Watson?”  
“Here.”  
“Everyone's okay, all clear.”  
Watson got up and returned to his chair, and the others continued their work as if nothing untoward had happened.

Later George sent an e-mail to a lady on the first floor asking for an exercise reference and a weapon code, giving details of a spurious magnetic flux device. About five minutes later he had a reply, 'Deep Gully' and 'MH577'.

”Right, listen up chaps, we are going to need some electronic devices to use in a destructive test. It doesn't matter what they are, they just need to be powered on and testable so we can see what has happened to them, and we'll need quite a lot. Can you all use your contacts to see what you can get. If anyone wants to know what it is for, tell them it is a for a test of MH577.”  
While the four officers set to work Corporal Percival spoke out.  
“Boss, I heard the Comms guys complaining that they have a load of Blackberries that are going to have to be securely destroyed as they can't be used any more but have had classified data on them.”  
“That is exactly the sort of thing I'm looking for. Can you find out if they are still around, we might be able to save them some money.”  
“Yes Boss.” Percival said as he left his desk.  
It turned out that there were over a hundred Blackberries which were to be disposed of, and the Comms team at Main Building were able to provide limited functionality SIMs for them so that the Blackberries would be capable of being 'live' during the test.  
Group Captain Thwaites came up with some out-of-life electronic modules for the Rapier missile, these would need a low voltage supply if they needed to be 'live'. George told Thwaites to get the details of the power that would be needed. Once he had these details he spoke to his contacts at the experimental range at Shoeburyness and arranged for some buildings to be made available. Once the Blackberries and the Rapier modules were ready they were shipped out and set up in an arrangement that had been drawn up by George.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is much more to come,comments are appreciated!


	3. Part Three -Trials at Shoeburyness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and the Brigadier carry out some tests.

George e-mailed Peter Grant to ask if he would be available to conduct some tests on the electronic equipment at the experimental range at Shoeburyness, and suggested some dates. Peter replied in the afternoon to say that Nightingale was very happy for him to assist with the tests and they agreed a date.  
“I'll sort out train tickets, we'll need to go from Fenchurch Street; will it be okay to meet you at the Folly at oh-nine hundred?”  
“That's fine by me.” Peter replied.  
“We'll be in smart civvies, can you manage a jacket and tie?”  
“Yes, of course.”  
During the afternoon before the trial George told Corporal Percival that he would be coming.  
“Take this form down to stores and get coveralls for both of us along with a holdall; on the way back can you pick up an empty box of printer paper. Bring sandwiches tomorrow, there may not be canteen facilities at the ranges.”

That evening Nightingale and Peter discussed the Brigadier's proposed test.  
“Just do as the Brigadier asks, I'm sure he will have taken steps to keep the fact that the trial involves the use of magic a secret.”  
“Have you found out anything about his background? Is he a natural, a man with a touch of the old Palladino?”  
Nightingale smiled, remembering the ghost of Nicholas Windrow at the Actors' church. “Nothing magical that I could see. He comes from good Sussex stock but there is nothing in his background, no genius loci and he's definitely not fae. He lives in Twickenham and his house backs onto the river Crane.”

“Morning, sir.” Percival greeted George.  
“Morning Percival; spic and span I see. Ready for our adventure?”  
“I am, sir.”  
“You've got the coveralls in the holdall?”  
“Yes sir.”  
“Good man.” George turned to his Colonel, “Andrew, we'll have our phones on except for when the tests are being carried out. We should be back at Fenchurch by sixteen hundred.” Turning back to Percival he continued, “Is your watch electronic?”  
“Yes sir, it is.”  
“You had better leave it here, you don't want it ruined! Right, to Russell Square.” George led Percival out of the building and they walked across to Embankment underground station. They met up with Peter at the Folly, and as he went to leave Molly suddenly appeared in front of him, holding out a bag. Peter took it from her and after they had left the building he told the two soldiers that it was his lunch.  
“If she knows I'm going to be out all day she will make sandwiches; there is just no way of knowing what she will put in them. How are we getting to Shoeburyness?”  
“Underground to Fenchurch and then the oh-nine fifty-one to Shoeburyness, it takes about an hour; I've got the tickets for all of us. I've arranged for a vehicle to collect us and take us out to the ranges. The most walking we'll have to do is from Tower Hill to Fenchurch Street.”  
After surviving the crowded Underground trains and then walking to the mainline station they found that they almost had the carriage to themselves, George remarked that although the trains were alternately a stopping service and a 'fast' train, they seemed to take almost exactly the same time. Percival said he thought it might be due to track occupancy as faster trains were often held up by slower trains in front of them.  
Peter took the opportunity to check his sandwiches and found them to be an almost ordinary combination of sliced roast beef with fine slices of beetroot and a generous helping of horseradish sauce.

When they arrived at Shoeburyness station they found a corporal waiting for them and followed him to an old Landrover. The corporal drove them to the ranges; there was a moment of confusion at the gate until the guard realised that Peter was on his list and issued a visitors pass to him. The driver took them to one of the office buildings and they met the range safety officer as well as the admin staff. They confirmed that the arrays of circuit boards were ready with power supplies set up, some protected by RCDs but most with basic fuses, and had been set up in three separate buildings.  
“Do we need to wait for any length of time after the test before we can enter the buildings?” The safety officer asked.  
“That's your call Peter.” George replied.  
“There is no problem with you going in to a building as soon as we leave it. There will be no residual hazard.” Peter said.  
They went to the first building, a long brick structure with no windows and a light reinforced plastic roof. Once inside the three men quickly checked that both the Blackberries and the Rapier boards were powered up along with the USB memory sticks in the light that filtered through the translucent roof panels, and then stood to one side.  
“What are the wooden uprights for?” Peter asked.  
“They have been coated with heat and light sensitive paint; partly to measure the relative outputs of the fireballs' heat but also to help prove that it isn't thermal damage ruining the chips.” George answered.  
“Right then, make sure you have taken the batteries out of your mobiles.” Peter told them.  
Both men confirmed they had done so and Peter readied himself; he cast a fireball at the target in the centre of the array, which burst as a bright yellow flash.  
“Great Scot!” Percival exclaimed.  
After waiting a few moments they walked across to the target; the card square was burnt out and the cases of some of the nearer Blackberries had started to melt, the black plastic wrinkled and sagging. Their screens were blank and the units unreactive and this was repeated for up to several metres away from the target.  
The three men then left and walked down to the next building. The scene inside was similar but the boards etc., were in a slightly different arrangement. After checking the power supplies Peter again cast a fireball.  
“What would happen if one of those hit someone?” Percival asked as they left the building.  
Peter stopped and looked at him, “Oh it would kill them,” he said. “Inspector Nightingale taught me this spell earlier than he originally intended so that I can defend myself from a particularly nasty character called Martin Chorley.”  
They then continued towards the third building. The set-up was similar but this time Peter cast a strong werelight for a few seconds; the strong bluish-white light throwing the array of electronic devices into sharp relief.  
After this they returned to the main office, the range staff provided tea and coffee and they talked of electromagnetic pulses and the sorts of damage they caused.  
“The equipment we've just tested is still at an early stage,” George told them. “It can be used by one man but requires a great deal of skill; the bigger problem is that it has limited range and does not appear to be capable of being scaled up.”  
George confirmed some details of the assessments for the report that was to be made, and after finishing their sandwiches they were driven back to the station.  
On the return journey they had the carriage to themselves, and Peter recounted how he became an apprentice.  
“I prefer the term 'apprentice practitioner', the word wizard puts everyone in mind of Harry Potter.” He told them.  
“I haven't experienced anything like that,” George said, “I left school with three A levels, 'A's in Chemistry and Physics but only a 'C' in Maths so I ended up going to Portsmouth Polytechnic to study Chemistry. I got a first, though. Then I decided to join the Army and spent a year learning to be an officer.”  
“I thought you had a degree in computing.” Percival said.  
“That came later, the Army paid for me to study Computer Science with the Open University and I got another first.”  
“I must remember that next time Lady Ty reminds me she has a double first.” Peter said.

“What about you, Percival?”  
“I got a selection of GCSEs but didn't do at all well with my A levels so I had to look for a job. I joined The Rifles and I was in serving in 5 regiment when I was caught in a bomb blast in Afghanistan; it affected my eyesight so I've been transferred to an admin rôle. A bit of a bummer, really, as I rather liked being a rifleman. Mind you I am finding working with Brigadier LeForth interesting.”  
George grinned, and then spoke to Peter. “Inspector Nightingale mentioned Genius Loci and said they were mainly associated with rivers -can you tell me anything about them?”  
Peter laughed, and it was a while before he could speak. “The Thames has two; one above Teddington weir, and the other below. Just about all the tributaries have their own, Fleet, Brent, Effra and, of course, Tyburn. They have the ability to control the water...I have a good idea of their abilities as I am living with one Beverley Brook. She flooded Covent Garden to put out several fires and stop a riot.”  
Corporal Percival just stared open mouthed at Peter.  
“They also have the power of obligation; if you accept food or drink from them it gives them a power over you, a few years ago a bailiff visited Mother Thames to repossess something and accepted a cup of tea; he's still there to this day working as an odd-job man!”  
George thought for a minute or two before speaking. “Is there any way of protecting yourself from this 'obligation'?”  
“Well, if the giver swears that he or she will not place you under any obligation then you are fine.” Peter replied. “Perhaps, Brigadier, I ought to arrange for you to meet Oberon, He is an embodiment of soldiers that have died in battle.”  
The three men arrived at Fenchurch Street and made their way to Tower Hill and then back to their bases. As George and Percival neared Main Building George spoke to him. “Remember not to speak to anyone outside of the team of what you've seen today.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited 15 September 2019; more dialogue added at the end.  
Edited 16 September 2019, even more dialogue added.


	4. Panic at the Café

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Major Watson suffers a panic attack.

Major Watson had been gone for about ten minutes for breath of fresh air, when the special mobile, already nicknamed the Batphone, rang. George snatched it up from his desk and answered it.  
“Brigadier LeForth here.”  
“Hello, I'm the manager of Café Fresco. One of your men seems to be having a panic attack, he was able to give me a card with this number.”  
“I'm on my way.” George told him, as he locked his computer screen and grabbed his jacket. “Watson is at Fresco's.” He told the others, and he set off at a run, the Batphone still in his hand. He didn't stop to see if a lift was free, but hurled himself down the stairs. Once on the ground floor he cleared a way for himself by shouting out, “Make way there, proceeding to assist!” The usual knot of people in the entrance pulled out of the way of the tall black-haired officer bearing down on them.  
The security guards responded by opening the barriers and one of them also held a door open for him so he didn't even break his stride as he left the building.  
“What was all that about?” a senior civil servant -a G7 grade- asked.  
“One of the Brigadier's staff suffers from PTSD,” an MoD policeman told him. “He found out that most of the front door staff either have model railways or are interested in steam trains so he suggested that calling out 'proceeding to assist' might be a good way to warn them that he was in a hurry, as 'breakdown train proceeding to assist' was one of the highest priorities for trains.”  
George, meanwhile, was running towards the café, vaulting over railings and weaving between the cars on the roads. Roger could see him from the office windows, “George can't half shift, you know. He's not in bad condition for a fifty-year old.”  
“He has a run every morning before coming in to work, sir.” Percival told him. “He told me it helped him keep sane after his wife died. Apparently the army medics arranged for him to be allowed to run in Kew Gardens.”  
A couple of minutes later George arrived at the café and he saw Major Watson straight away, pale and wide eyed, huddled over in a corner, and strode over to him. “It's okay Eric,” he said, taking in the empty coffee cup on the table and the spilt coffee around it. George sensed the person approaching the table and looked up.  
“I'm so sorry, it was my fault.” The woman said. She was about five-foot ten tall with short curly hair, broad-shouldered and almost no waist. “I dropped a tray of cutlery and he just let his cup fall to the table and sort of...folded himself up.”  
“It's not your fault,” George said. “Would it be possible to get him a double espresso?” He fished a five pound note out of his pocket as he spoke.  
“Yes, of course.” The waitress said as she took the proffered note and walked over to the counter.   
“It's all right Eric, you're quite safe.” George said.  
A few minutes later the waitress returned and Eric was able to take the cup but he had to use both hands to stop the coffee from spilling.  
“Thank you,” George said, “could you thank whoever called me.”  
“Yes, I will.”  
George watched the waitress remove the old cups and wipe up the spilt coffee and caught her eye as she stood up. They both smiled at each other for a moment before she hurried away.   
George turned back to Eric. “Do you want a medicinal drop?”.  
“If I could.” Eric replied.

Back in Main Building James Tudball from Finance arrived at George's desk and stood staring at it for a moment. “Is Brigadier LeForth not here? He agreed to have a talk with me.”  
“Ah, he was called away on an urgent matter, he should be back soon.” Alex replied. “Corporal, let him know...”  
Corporal Percival had already picked his SmartPhone and was sending a text message to the Brigadier.

In the café George took a hip flask out of his pocket, removed the top and poured a small shot of brandy into Eric's coffee. He heard a woman behind him make a disparaging remark about the brandy and turned to face her. “Madam, if it takes alcohol to help this man to recover then he should have it, but like any other drug it needs to be used in a controlled manner.”  
The woman snorted before replying. “Rubbish! I think I will complain to his superior officer.”  
“There are no superior officers in the Army;” George responded firmly. “I am his senior officer and am responsible for his wellbeing.” He turned his back on the woman and watched Eric drink his coffee and saw the colour return to his cheeks.  
“Feeling better now?”  
“Yes...thank you George.”  
“Right, lets get back to the delights of Main Building.”  
The two officers stood up and walked towards the door, George caught the eye of the waitress and winked at her; she smiled shyly back. As they left the café George looked at the message on his Smartphone and muttered under his breath before breaking into song.  
“O it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, go away";  
But it's "Thank you, Mister Atkins", when the band begins to play,  
The band begins to play, my boys, the band begins to play,  
O it's "Thank you, Mister Atkins", when the band begins to play.  
While it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, fall be'ind",  
But it's "Please to walk in front, sir", when there's trouble in the wind,  
There's trouble in the wind, my boys, there's trouble in the wind,  
O it's "Please to walk in front, sir", when there's trouble in the wind.”  
Eric joined in for the second half, and then they both broke into laughter.

“I'm sorry to have kept you waiting,” George said to his visitor as he removed his jacket. “A bit of a medical emergency, Major Watson had a panic attack.”  
“Was it necessary for you to go given that we had a meeting arranged?”  
“Yes it was, we support our wounded colleagues.” As he spoke George rolled up the shirtsleeve of his left arm. “I'm lucky, my wounds are only physical.”  
James was silent for a moment as he looked at the mass of scars running up George's arm. The sight of it unnerved him and his querying of the necessity of George's tests at Shoeburyness was rather half hearted.  
After James had left, George rolled his sleeve back down, and saw Alex looking slightly shocked. “A legacy of Northern Ireland, I was too close to a nail bomb when it went off. I seem to remember it stung a bit at the time.”


	5. The Results.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George takes the results of the tests to the Folly.

Eventually the results of the test at Shoeburyness arrived on George's desk, he carefully read through the report, making notes on a separate sheet; some of these he copied into the back of the second copy of the report.  
“I want all five of you to read this,” he said as he passed the file to Andrew. “Make note of the damage done to the microprocessors.”  
He then rang the landline for the Folly; after a few rings it was answered. “Inspector Nightingale.”  
“Good afternoon, Brigadier LeForth here.”  
“Hallo George, how can I help you?”  
“I have the results from the tests we carried out a few weeks ago, I'd like to bring the report round to show you and Peter. When would be convenient?”  
“Peter is here practising at the moment, if you come round this afternoon you can have dinner with us.”  
“That is very kind of you, I'll be with you in about an hour and a half.”  
In due course George went down to his locker and changed into his civilian clothes, and he left the building with the file in his shoulder-bag.  
Nightingale greeted him on his arrival and led him into the atrium. Molly appeared, silently as ever, followed by Peter, a teenaged girl, and a small dog. She set down a tray before pouring tea for everyone. George thanked her as she handed him his cup, and then she left with the the swishing of her dress the only sound.  
“You know Peter, of course; this is Abigail and our dog is Toby.”   
“Hallo Brigadier.” Abigail said. Toby just sat, looking up at George.  
“It's nice to meet you Abigail.” George said. He looked down to Toby and said “Hallo Toby.”  
Toby stood up and walked across to him and allowed George to give him a scratch behind his ears.  
“Abigail is our newest member, she has taken a modified oath and will be learning magic in due course, for now she is working in our archives some evenings and during her school holidays.”  
“Ah, that makes things easier,” George said as he took the pink file from his bag, “I have no problem with your physical security, but if Abigail has taken your oath then there is no reason for her not to see the report.”  
Nightingale gestured for Peter to take it and George handed it to him.  
“The damage done to the microchips is very distinctive, it's almost as if the silicon has been dragged out of them as grains of sand.”  
“Yes,” said Peter “that would go towards explaining the marks on the chips themselves.”  
Peter passed the report to Nightingale, who surprised himself with his ability to understand most of it.  
“I still don't understand what this 'Electromagnetic Pulse' they keep talking about is.” Nightingale said.  
“It is an effect of nuclear weapons,” George replied, choosing his words carefully. “They generate energy across the electromagnetic spectrum, heat, light, x-rays, assorted sub-atomic particles and radio. The EMP induces currents in any conductor. It can be strong enough to overload circuits and trip circuit breakers in power systems but it will destroy semi-conductors even if they are switched off.”  
“So magic is less of a problem if it only affects chips that are powered up?” Abigail asked.  
“Yes and no,” George said. “Although a shut-down system will not be affected, magic is much more localised and low key. If someone got into a computer centre and walked around with a werelight they would completely wreck it without any other outward signs.”  
“I see your problem.” Nightingale mused. “You cannot really identify a practitioner by sight.”  
They were then joined by Frank Caffrey, and Nightingale introduced him to George. “Frank is an investigator with the London Fire Brigade. He often refers cases to us, and provides military support when we need it.”  
“Do you know, I think we've met before, somewhere.” George said.  
“Well I am in 4th Para now but I used to be full time.”  
“Ah yes, the advanced un-armed combat course in ninety-eight.”  
“I was certainly on that course,” Frank said, “But I don't remember you.”  
“I was just a captain then. A group of us took unarmed combat seriously and got our selves onto the courses. We even got the Army to teach us basic sword fighting.”  
“Sword fighting!” Peter exclaimed.  
“Yes, we thought that as the Army had provided us with swords as part of our uniform we ought to learn how to use them. Barry Purvis found an obscure rule that obliged the War Office to pay for it and we all did it. We even paid up for a second set of swords which we could keep an edge on as opposed to the dress swords.”  
The rest of of the group were listening in fascination as George continued. “It came in useful precisely once. We were in a minibus returning from a parade when we could see a couple of men holding up the staff of a petrol station. We told the driver to pull in and we tumbled out to intervene. When one of the men pointed his handgun at us we all drew our swords and someone said 'one for all', and we just had to chorus 'and all for one'! They dropped the guns -they turned out to be imitation guns- and we held them both at sword-point until the police arrived.”  
At this point Molly entered the room and stood next to Nightingale with her hands clasped in front of her.  
“Ah,” Nightingale said, standing up. “Dinner is ready.”  
They all followed Nightingale into the dining room, and sat at the main table. As usual Molly swiftly and silently served the food, and there was silence for a while as the group started to eat.  
“What sort of support do you need to provide for the Folly?” George asked Frank.  
“A few intelligent men with guns when protection is required, and the material for dealing with vampires.”  
“Vampires? I take it you don't mean stakes and mallets!”  
The others laughed and it was a moment before Nightingale could explain. “They are not quite as popular fiction has them, they simply absorb life from their surroundings as they are not actually alive. We use phosphorus grenades as the intense heat generated is the only thing that will reliably destroy them.”

After dinner they went to the library and Nightingale poured brandies for everyone.  
“I understand that you like watching rugby.” George asked him.  
“Yes, why do you ask?”  
“I have two tickets for the Army-Navy game next month, would you like to come?”  
“Of course I would!”


	6. Testing the Brigadier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nightingale has a test for the Brigadier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter repeats a few lines from chapter 5 but I have made some changes to them. This story has already become longer than I expected but it is good fun (and practice) for me.  
There will also be a small black cat, but I can promise it come to no harm!

After dinner they went to the library and Nightingale poured brandies for everyone.  
“I understand that you like watching rugby.” George asked him.  
“Yes, why do you ask?”  
“I have two tickets for the Army-Navy game next month, would you like to come?”  
“Of course I would -operational commitments permitting.”  
A few minutes later Molly swept into the library and gave Nightingale a nod.  
“Thank-you Molly, would you care for a brandy as well?”  
Molly picked up a balloon glass by way of a reply and Nightingale duly poured her a generous measure.  
“George, would you be prepared to take part in experiment Peter and I have put together?”  
“What's involved?”  
“On your first visit here you mentioned you could detect a smell when I cast a spell. We would like to see what you can detect with a number of people -the only thing is we need to do it just outside the building and you will need to wear a blindfold so you cannot tell who is casting the spell.”  
“As long as I don't get fried!”  
“You will be perfectly safe -if Peter sets fire to anything Frank will be on hand to put it out.”  
George rose from his seat and followed Nightingale out to the courtyard, with Molly and the rest behind him. Toby was waiting by the door, eagerly watching the group in anticipation, and George stopped for a moment.  
“Toby, you have my full permission to give my ankle a nip if you think I'm in danger.”  
Toby stood up and wagged his tail. A seat had been placed just outside the door, and Abigail flourished a blindfold. George sat in the chair and the blindfold was placed over his eyes and Abigail ensured that he could not see anything. George could, however, feel Toby's tail hitting his right shin.  
“Right, number one.” Frank called out. George couldn't feel anything but breathed deeply to try and catch the faintest scent.  
“Sandalwood.” He said.  
“Okay, number two.”  
“Sandalwood again but I'm also getting pepper.”  
“Number three.”  
“Hmm, fresh air and the taste of water.”  
“Number four.”  
“Lily-of-the-valley perfume.”  
“Number five.”  
“Ink...printer's ink.”  
“And finally, number six.”  
“Oh, I'm getting grease, and something I can't place.”  
“Interesting; you can take the blindfold off now, George.”  
George removed the blindfold and saw Nightingale and Peter in front of him with a Nigerian man in a fancy uniform and four women alongside him, three young Nigerians and one older white woman in a two piece suit.  
“This is Miss Beverley Brook, Fleet, Effra and Lea,” Nightingale said, gesturing to each in turn, “and this is Oberon.”  
George greeted them all in turn. Noticing that Oberon was looking at the doorway he looked to his left and saw Molly leaning against the doorpost with her hands behind her back and a smile on her face.  
“Molly does like to see magic being done, even if it is just werelights and balls of water.” Nightingale told him as he picked up the chair and handed it to Molly.  
“Shall we all go back inside?” George asked.  
“Ah, sadly the ladies cannot; it is because of the defensive spells protecting the Folly.” Nightingale said. “Your ability to sense the spells is unusual in someone who has no training. Would you care to try to identify which of us caused which scent?”  
“Well, I think I'm safe in saying the sandalwood was you, which would make Peter the sandalwood and pepper. I'll make a leap of faith based on appearance and say that the lily-of-the-valley was Lea but I can't make any connection with the others.”  
“You reported 'fresh air and water' when Miss Brook produced a ball of water.”  
“I take it your brook is nice and clean?” George asked.  
“Sparkling.” she said with a laugh.  
“You said 'ink' for Fleet.”  
“Ink...oh of course, the newspapers.”  
Fleet just nodded. “Actually Bev and I need to get back. Nice to meet you, Brigadier”  
“Yes, of course,” Nightingale said. “Thank you for helping us.” As they left he turned back to George. “That leaves 'grease' for Effra here.”  
“I can't see the connection there. Did Oberon not take part?”  
“No, I am only married to a goddess” said Oberon holding Effra's hand.  
“Oberon is perhaps best described as the embodiment of soldiers that have fallen in action.” Nightingale said.  
“I see, that explains the Napoleonic style uniform.” George said. “I sometimes regret the change to khaki.”  
“We need to go as well, Nightingale, and we have to escort Miss Lea home.”  
“Yes, of course,” Nightingale said. “And again, thank you for your help.”  
Oberon nodded, first to Nightingale and then to George before leading Effra and Lea out of the courtyard. The rest of the group followed Nightingale back to the library and they all accepted a second brandy.  
“So my ability to detect a...er...practitioner casting spells is unusual?”  
“Yes,” Nightingale said after a pause. “Practitioners can tell the signare of other practitioners, and with practice anyone can sense vestigia, but to have the sensation of a smell just while a spell is being cast has not been heard of before. Have you experienced anything similar to this?”  
George thought for a moment before replying. “Several times in my life I have felt that something is about to happen, and I have moved just before bullets have arrived or bombs have gone off, but I've always put that down to being a soldier for so long.”  
“I see. If anything else like that happens, please let me know.”  
“I will. You say that Abigail has learnt Latin, is that needed to become a practitioner?”  
“Yes, it was the language of the learned man when the Folly -or the Society of the Wise- was set up, and we have stayed with it. Do you speak many languages?”  
“German fluently, Arabic haltingly -I'm much better at writing and reading than speaking- and I can order beer in just about all the European languages.”  
“Typical soldier priorities!” Frank said.  
“We have quite a few books in Arabic in both the mundane and magical libraries; I can read them but I haven't the time to index them let alone translate them, and I don't think I can persuade Abigail to learn Arabic.” Nightingale said.  
“Only if you fund a classics degree -Latin, Greek and Arabic would be perfect.” Abigail told him.  
“Well, I'm not thinking of leaving the Army anytime soon but I'll have to retire at some stage.” George said. “I haven't been able to think of anything that I could do until now, would you have room for an elderly archivist? If you have I'll promise to teach myself Latin.”  
“How can you teach yourself?”  
“A few years ago the Daily Telegraph was promoting the teaching of Latin in secondary schools, and they effectively printed a Latin primer. I didn't have the time to follow it then, but I kept the articles. They're in a box file in my attic.”  
“There is a tremendous amount of cross indexing to be done on just about everything in the libraries.” Peter added.  
“Well, I can't make any promises but we could do with a librarian.” Nightingale told him. “You'll have to keep in touch.”  
“I'll do that.” George said.


	7. Another coffee and a date.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With some outside help George goes on a date.

George was writing his weekly report for Newlee when one of his cybersecurity team leaders walked up to his desk.  
“Afternoon boss.”  
“Hallo Graham, what brings you up here?”  
“Well, it's a sort of personal matter.”  
“Pull up a chair.” George told him.  
Graham did so and sat close to George, leaning across to him. “I treated myself to lunch at Café Fresco today and was joined by Charlie Glass; you know how he always says 'May LeForth be with you!' to me?”  
“Yes, he doesn't exactly endear himself to me saying that.”   
“Well, one of the waitresses overheard him, and asked if he meant 'the tall officer that came to help one of his men the other day'. She proceeded to describe you rather well.”  
“I did run down there a while ago, Eric had a panic attack and the manager called us. Is she the tall girl with short dark hair and deep blue eyes?”  
“Oh, you noticed her then -she's taken a bit of a shine to you. You could do with a woman in your life again, it'll be good for you.”  
“Oh not you as well-” George replied before Graham could cut him off, their slightly raised voices attracting the team's attention.  
“Yes, I know no-one can replace Lizzie, I'd agree with you there. It's just that I -and others- think you need a soulmate.”  
“Well that's very thoughtful, but I am far too old for her...she can only be in her late twenties.”  
“I'd at least find out what she's like.”  
Sitting furthest away Corporal Percival couldn't hear the conversation and, taking his glasses off, was rubbing his eyes.  
Alex looked at George for a moment before speaking. “I think it is time for a coffee, Brigadier.”  
“Oh no, no way.” George replied. “I've got to finish this report, I don't have the time to go out for coffees.”   
“In that case I'll go, but it's your shout, boss.” Eric said. “Corporal Percival's eyes are tired so he needs to get out of the office for a few minutes. He can make sure I don't get into trouble.”  
George sighed, fished some banknotes out of his wallet and slapped them down on his desk. “Can I trust you not to stitch me up Eric?”  
“To the end of the Earth, boss.”  
“Yes, Ford Prefect said that to Arthur Dent -and look what happened to him!”  
“Come on Corporal, gather those cups, I'll carry the heavy end.” Eric said as he picked up the money, giving Graham a wink as he did so.  
The two men quickly reached Café Fresco and ordered the coffees from the man at the counter. Eric looked around for the waitress and by the time all the drinks had been made he caught sight of her cleaning a table, and he walked across to her.  
“Excuse me, I've been told you have been asking after Brigadier George LeForth.”  
The waitress recognised him. “Oh, er, yes. Er, are you better?” She started to blush.  
“Much better today thank you. Corporal Percival and I were persuaded to do the coffee run this afternoon. If you'd like us to take a message back to George we'll do that for you.”  
The waitress giggled again and took out her pad; she wrote a short message and, folding the piece of paper held it out to Eric.  
“His name is definitely George?” She asked.  
“I give you my word as an officer and a gentleman!” Eric replied as he raised George's coffee cup so she could place the message underneath it.  
“I will take this straight to him.” he said, giving her a smile, and then tuned to leave the café with Percival following.   
“I hope we aren't going to get into trouble for this, sir.” Percival said.  
“I might but you won't. George's -I mean the brigadier's- wife died over five years ago. I know it takes at least two years to get over the loss of a spouse and her death hit him very hard; but he needs a soulmate. He can't rattle around on his own in that great big house of his for much longer.”  
“I don't mean to be personal but he might just think you are the pot calling the kettle black.”  
“Um...my case is a bit different. My wife left me because she couldn't cope with the way I was behaving. We had only been together for a few years, the 'brig' had been married for over twenty.”  
By the time the duo returned to the office Graham had left, and George was finishing his report. They handed out the drinks, and Eric placed the tray with George's cup on his desk.  
“Thanks guys.” George said as he picked up his cup. Then he saw the note that had been tucked under it and unfolded it. “Did you put her up to this, Eric?”   
“Not at all, I just agreed to bring it to you. Just ask the corporal.”  
“It's true.” Percival said.  
George looked at both of them but said nothing, he just re-folded the piece of paper and tucked it into his jacket pocket.  
After he had eaten dinner that evening, he re-read the note- 'Hi, my name is Leanne and I'd like to talk to you' followed by her mobile number. He picked up his mobile and tapped in her number. After about half-a-dozen rings she answered.  
“Hello.”  
“Hello, it's George here, I got your note.”  
“Oh, Hi, I wasn't sure if your friend would actually pass it to you. Would you like to meet up some time?”  
“Yes, I would.”  
“Do you like music? There are some bands playing at a local pub, I know the drummer of one of them, they play punk and covers of Squeeze and they are at 'The Music Box' on Saturday night.” She said in a rush.  
“That sounds good, do you want to meet there?”  
“Yeah, that sounds good.”  
“What time?”  
“Oh, er, how about half past eight?”  
“I'll be there.”  
“Looking forward to it already!”  
“Be seeing you, Leanne.”  
After the call George looked up the pub's website. As its name suggested it frequently featured live music, and there were three bands listed as playing on Saturday, they all seemed to be punk tribute bands. He made sure he had memorised the location of the pub before turning his mobile phone off, and turned in for the night.


	8. The Music Box

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Brigadier goes on a date.

Friday went quite quickly, with Eric and the others only teasing him slightly. George found himself looking forward to a Saturday evening of good music and the company of a charming young lady. That afternoon he rang a taxi company he had used a few times -not only were they reliable but they exclusively used ex-servicemen as drivers- and booked a car to take him to the pub, they even promised that they should be able to get him picked up quickly when he wanted to return home.

The taxi turned up at precisely half past seven and the driver greeted George.  
“The Music Box, sir?”  
“That's right, but you don't need to call me sir; I'm off duty and you've escaped.” George said as he sat in the front seat.  
“True. Old habits die hard, though, and I was a corporal in the 'Tigers'. The name's John Worth but most people call me Harry.”  
“Harry? -Oh yes; I've got a sudden urge to find a shop with a full-height window.”  
Both men laughed as John pulled away from George's house.  
It took the best part of an hour for John to work his way across to the Music Box, and he dropped George off at just after twenty past eight.  
Leanne saw him before he saw her; he was almost head and shoulders above the rest of the crowd outside the pub and did stand out. She was wearing a pair of tight jeans and a top which matched the intense blue of her eyes.  
“Hi, the Squash are playing first. We've got a few minutes before they start.”  
“The Squash?”  
“They keep changing their name; they are covering a lot of songs by Squeeze at the moment.”  
“I see. You're looking good.”  
“Thanks. You look nice out of uniform.” She paused for a moment before giggling.  
“I'd better get a drink,” he said. “Would you like one?”  
“No, I've already got one, thanks.” She told him, raising her almost full glass.  
George worked his way to the bar, and managed to get served quickly -another benefit of his height. Holding his pint in one hand and a bottle in the other he found Leanne waiting for him and he followed her across to where the band were setting up their instruments.  
George studied the members of the band, there was a man in sunglasses who he took to being the main vocalist, two rather heavy-set men in jeans and tee-shirts who were the guitarists, a young girl with long red hair busy setting up the keyboards, a blond girl in white jeans and shirt who he thought was a backing singer, and a thin girl sporting a decent yellow Mohican haircut tightening her drums. After they had settled down they started an instrumental which George didn't recognise. Once the band members were satisfied with the instruments and amplifiers they let it fade out.  
“We'll start with 'Cool for Cats'.” the lead singer announced, and they launched into the Squeeze song.  
As Leanne was leaning against him, George put his arm around her and felt her press her hip against him. George made his beer last until the band came to their final number 'Take Me I'm Yours', and he started to join in with the song.  
“Don't spoil it!” Leanne hissed as she poked her elbow into George's ribs, and he sang the rest under his breath so she couldn't hear.  
The members of The Squash quickly removed their instruments to make way for the next band, who were eager to start. George offered to get Leanne a drink but she declined.  
“Can we go Dutch on the drinks?”  
“Yes, if that is your wish.” As soon as George got to the bar the barmaid went to serve him but he asked her to get Leanne's drink first. “She was here before me.”  
By the time they got clear of the bar the second band was well into their first song, and Leanne's friend -the drummer- was waiting for them with a pint in her hand. Her sweat-soaked tee-shirt was clinging to her body, showing off her firm breasts.  
“Hi Lisa!” Leanne said. “This is George, I sort of met him at Café Fresco.”  
“Hallo Lisa.” George said.  
“Hiya,” Lisa said to both of them, “can we go outside, I'm boiling.”  
The trio walked out into the open air and Lisa sighed in relief before taking a long draught from her pint of lager as they sat at a small table. George couldn't help noticing Lisa's nipples pushing out against the thin cotton of her shirt in reaction to the cool breeze.  
“It was good hearing those songs again, 'Take me I'm Yours' is a favourite of mine.” George said.  
“I had to stop him singing along with it.”  
“You didn't need to, I think a lot did.” She turned to George “I'm glad you liked our songs. Do you sing?”  
“Reasonably well.” George told her, and took a drink from his pint. “I can also play an instrument but I'll only tell you what it is if you promise not to laugh -and that goes for you as well, Leanne.”  
The two girls looked at each other and then back at George. “We promise,” Lisa said. “Although I can't imagine what would make me laugh....”  
“The washboard.”  
Lisa's eyes opened wide and she clapped her hand to her mouth to stifle her laughter. Leanne just looked at George in puzzlement.  
“It's a perfectly good percussion instrument.” George said.  
“What's a washboard?” Leanne asked.  
“It's a ridged metal or glass sheet in a wooden frame, isn't it?” Lisa asked, having successfully stifled her laughter.  
“Yes, glass is better. You wear metal thimbles to play it, and you can have small cymbals and bells on it. I knew one player who had a small xylophone attached to his washboard.”  
This time Lisa did laugh. “You've reminded me of the video for a Madness song -Cardiac Arrest- where one of the band opens an attaché case and plays a toy xylophone that's inside it!”  
“Ah, Madness, now there's some good song writing.”  
“The pub's having a ska night in a couple of weeks.” Leanne said.  
“I'll come if you will.” He said, looking into Leanne's eyes.  
“That's a deal I shall hold you to!”  
“Do you really play a washboard?” Lisa asked him, “Or are you pulling my leg?”  
“I do, cross my heart and all that. I was taught by the actor Derek Guyler.”  
“I'm going to get myself another drink,” Leanne said “don't go off while I'm gone. And don't you lead him astray, Lisa.”  
“Nah, you're all right. He's not my type.”  
Leanne walked back to the bar, leaving them both at the table.  
“Not your type?” George said with a laugh “I'm devastated!”  
“Don't take it personally, it's because you're a bloke.”  
“Ah, I see. Is Leanne...”  
“Nah, we're just schoolfriends.”  
“Does she always insist on buying her own drinks?”  
“I've never known her to accept a drink from anyone...she once said to me that she didn't want to be put under any obligation.”  
At this point the two guitarists walked up to the table. “Hi Lisa, everything's in the van. Jerry wants to make move in half an hour.”  
“Oh good, time for another drink,” she said. “This is Eric, and this is Harry.”  
“Can I buy you all a drink?” George asked.  
“Cheers, mate,” Eric said, “a pint of dry cider, please.”  
“Same for me, thanks.”  
“What about you, Lisa?”  
“Could I have a bottle of Bengal Lancer?”  
“Coming right up. You okay with the same glass?”  
“Yeah.”  
George stood up and looked towards the bar to see if Leanne was on her way back.  
“George is a friend of Leanne's,” Lisa explained. “He's also an amateur percussionist.”  
“I'm a dab hand on the washboard -oh hang on, I can see Leanne. I'll go and get you those drinks.”  
George headed towards the bar, stopping just long enough tell Leanne that he was getting drinks for the three band members. When he came back they were deep in conversation, but as soon as Leanne saw that he had returned she moved sideways so that he could sit next to her. He handed the guitarists their pints and Lisa her bottle and only then sat down before carefully pouring the last bottle into his glass.  
“We were trying to work out what you do for a living -Leanne won't tell us.” Eric said.  
“I'm in the Army.”  
“Musician?”  
“No, I joined as an infantry officer in 'eighty-six and now I run a small department in Main Office.”  
“You don't have to fight, then?”  
“Well, I'm still a soldier so I would if I was ordered to, but my work is administrative nowadays. What do you do, or are you all full-time musicians?”  
All three laughed before Lisa replied. “Music doesn't pay well, I work in a bookshop, Eric sells kitchens and Harry is an art teacher.”  
“Where do you teach?” He asked Harry.  
“Waldegrave School, I've been there just over five years.”  
In the next few minutes they were sharing tales of their school days, until Jerry walked up. “Time to go guys, Bill's bringing the van round to the front.” He told them.  
The three band members quickly finished their drinks and said their goodbyes. As they left Leanne put her arm round George's waist and looked up to him. “Shall we go back inside?”  
George walked back inside with her and they found a small table for themselves. “Did you really pour a flask of liquid air down your school's staircase?”  
“I'm afraid so, we did cause a panic amongst the first-formers at the bottom. The funniest part was when their teacher came up and told us to clear it all up -we just stood there and looked down at the very empty stone steps.”  
Leanne giggled at the thought of it. “It's been nice spending the evening with you, George.”  
“I've enjoyed your company too. I'd like to do it again.”  
“I'm tied up next weekend but we could both come here for the ska night.”  
“Shall we meet here again?”  
“Yeah, I'll call you if I can't make it.” She smiled at George.  
“I'd better call for a taxi,” George said. “Can I give you a lift home?”  
“No, I'm okay thanks. It's only a short walk.”  
“I shall worry about your safety.”  
“There's no need, I can look after myself. Tell you what, I'll send you a text when I'm home.”  
“Okay, fair enough.” George then fished his phone out of his pocket and rang the taxi firm.  
“Ten to fifteen minutes.” He told Leanne.  
“Not quite time for another wine.” She said with sadness, “I'd better go.” She stood up and, before George could move, kissed him gently on the cheek before darting out of the door.  
George's taxi turned up as promised, and his phone announced a text as he got in.  
“Cole Road?” the driver asked.  
“That's right he said as he put his seat belt on. He checked his phone: 'Home safely, perhaps we'll dream of each other. Xxx'  
'Good, I'm on the way, sleep well. XXX' was his reply. 


	9. The Rugby Match

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George and Nightingale watch the Army/Navy rugby match...and talk.

On Monday the team were quite quiet until Eric broke the silence; “How was your week-end, boss?”  
“Very good, thank you Eric. A couple of good bands and one indifferent one.”  
“And your date?”  
“We enjoyed each other's company.”  
“Will you be taking her to the rugby match next Saturday?” Alex asked.  
“No, I don't think she'd cope with me being a spectator at the grudge match. I'll see her the next weekend, after my pastoral visit. It'll be ska bands, apparently.”

On the morning of the rugby match Nightingale drove to George's house and parked his Jaguar on the gravel driveway. “I trust I'm not blocking you in?” he asked.  
“Not at all, we can walk to the stadium from here. The roads will be full of Navy cars anyway. We've got plenty of time, do you fancy a drink?”  
“Well, a beer wouldn't hurt.” Nightingale said with a smile.  
“Come on in.”  
Nightingale followed George through the front door and into the kitchen; George opened the fridge and took out a couple of bottles.  
“Would you like a London Pride, Thomas?”  
“That would be very nice George, thank you.” As Nightingale took the proffered glass he looked out of the window at the neat back garden. “I see you keep your garden in good order.”  
“Yes, my wife taught me all I know about gardening. I keep it that way partly in her memory but also I like to grow some vegetables for myself.”  
“I'm impressed. You also keep your house in good order.”  
“Ah, I'll admit to having a cleaning lady in once a week!”  
After finishing their beers the two men set out for the stadium.  
“Did you play for the Army?”  
“No, I wasn't quite good enough, but when I was younger I did play for my Regiment.”  
“What position?”  
“Right wing, although in some games we tried to confuse our opponents; I'd swap over with the left wing in mid play. Did you play much?”  
“Very little since I left school, although I enjoy watching it.”  
As they walked past some parked cars a voice called out in a strong Welsh accent. “Watch out lads, 'The Bridge' is here!”  
George looked across and recognised the man. “Hallo Taffy -reckon your mob will win this time?”  
“Of course we will!”   
“Oh, really?” George replied. “Thomas, this is Lieutenant-Commander Gareth 'Taffy' Jones, we've faced one another on the pitch a few times; Taffy, this is DCI Nightingale.”  
Taffy stepped forward and shook hands with Nightingale. “You are supporting the Army team?” he asked.  
“But of course, I'm ex-Army myself.”  
“Be prepared for a defeat then!” Taffy said with a smile.  
After they walked a bit nearer the stadium Thomas asked George a question; “Is 'The Bridge' your nickname?”  
“Yes, at school I was either called 'George the Fourth' or 'The Bridge'. When I found out what the Forth Bridge actually was I rather liked it. When I was at Portsmouth Polytechnic I was playing in a match against a Naval team and when one of their men tried to tackle me I was able to shoulder barge him out of the way and carried on to score a try. After the match we were all in a local pub and this guy's team mates were teasing him over his inability to stop me. He said 'I stood more chance of bringing the Forth Bridge down than him' and I was 'The Bridge' after that.”   
“The Demi-Monde call me 'The Nightingale' and they have started calling Peter 'The Dawn Starling'.”

The two men returned to George's home after the match, elated by the Army team's victory. They settled down with another beer each, and the conversation soon turned to magic.  
“Do you know where the power all comes from?” George asked.  
“No, we don't, it is thought that it stems from life itself but no-one really knows. Rivers seem to generate power but we don't know how. One of the effects of the -in my opinion ill considered- attack on Ettersburg was a massive draining of magic that lasted until the nineteen-sixties. The reason for that reversal is also unknown.” As Nightingale said this he looked past George and gazed into space, his eyes misting.  
“I've just had a thought about that. In the nineteen thirties the Abwehr set up a massive high-frequency radio transmitter to send messages to their agents around the world. It used a lake for both cooling and as a ground plane; unfortunately it took out part of one of the wavebands used by amateur radio enthusiasts. A radio engineer here in England worked out a theory that it might be possible to overload the ionosphere to stop the transmitter's sky-wave from propagating -the skywave bounces up and down between the surface of the Earth and the ionosphere to reach around the globe. The amateur community agreed to try and on the appointed evening just about all of them joined in. The Germans thought it was an attempt to jam the transmitter so they increased its power. When it all stopped there was indeed a hole in the ionosphere and the transmitter couldn't be heard outside of central Europe. Thing is, that hole is still there, with the right sort of receiver you can pick it out.”  
“I hadn't heard of that -it is possible that something similar happened with magic. Perhaps I ought to invite you to become an Associate of the Society of the Wise; you have the right sort of enquiring mind.”  
“I might take you up on that if my senior officers will let me. The more I find out about magic the more I'm attracted to the Gaia theory -that the whole planet is an organism and perhaps magic is just part of it.”  
“That is one of the more sensible theories that has been bandied about.”  
“There are a couple of science fiction stories I've read which revolve around magic,” George said as he waved an arm at some of his book-shelves. “One assumed that the magic got its power from the energy expended by the magician creating the spell; the other assumed that the energy came from the Earth but it turned out to be a finite resource...and was running out.”  
“Well, while it can take quite a time to learn a spell casting it is very fast and with practice can become instinctive. In your second example there is no sign of magic running out in our world, if anything the reverse is the case. Have you managed to spend any time learning Latin?”  
“Yes, I found the box-file I had put the articles in and got stuck into it straight away.”  
“How is it going?”  
“Factum est cotidie meliores fiant.” George said, after a pause.  
“Quod est ipsum bonum, audire.”  
The two men laughed and finished their beers.  
“Do all rivers have a Genius Locorum?”  
“There are some that don't. The river Lugg -it's in Herefordshire- doesn't but that is because it was 'done in' by a group of Methodist preachers. The smaller a river the less chance it has but small tributaries of a river with a genius Locorum often do -Beverley Brook, for example.”  
“The Crane runs past the bottom of my garden, does it have one?”  
“Yes, but Crane is nearly always travelling. The river runs around Heathrow Airport and she takes her spirit from that, in the way that Lady Ty -the Tyburn- takes hers from the Houses of Parliament and Fleet takes it from Fleet Street.”  
“That's fascinating, I now see rivers in a new light -and with a measure of respect.”  
“I think I had better be getting back to the Folly; we have a lot of planning to do.”  
“A big operation coming up?”  
“Yes, it means that Peter and myself will be busy so we may not be able to respond to you as quickly as before. I'll let you know when we are back to normal.”  
“Thank you for letting me know, I hope you are successful.” George said as they walked out to Nightingale's car. “That's a well looked-after classic.”  
“Ah yes; good road holding and the only electronics on board are the radios.”  
“I see, should I think of buying something magic proof?”  
“Only if you feel you need to be prepared. What car have you got now?”  
“I have two, both tucked away in the garage. A Yaris hybrid if I need to drive around London-something I only do if I really have to- and a Volvo 850 for when I go to see the family.”  
“Are they far?”  
“My parents live in Chichester, Lizzie's are in Southampton and my son and his wife are in Cirencester.”  
“It's worth having a long legged car for those runs. I don't think you will need to buy anything 'magic-proof' as you put it, but don't let me stop you. I think you ought to know that an engine can be put out of action by a specific spell as well as by the collateral damage of nearby spells.”  
After Nightingale had left for the Folly, George decided against another beer and instead made a pot of strong Assam tea and settled down to read Iain M Banks' 'Consider Phlebas'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A translation:  
"It is getting better every day"  
"That is very good to hear"


	10. The Pastoral visit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George tells Leanne of that days 'pastoral' visit.

George met up with Leanne at The Music Box again on Saturday evening but was obviously unsettled.  
“What's up, has your Major had a panic attack again?” She asked him once they both had bought themselves drinks.  
“No, he has been fine for the past few weeks.” He looked at Leanne for a moment. “Tell you what, let's find a quiet corner and I'll tell you.”  
It took a few minutes but eventually they found a table and sat down.  
“You might remember there was a shooting of a pizza delivery boy in Southwark a couple of years ago, there was a bit press speculation that there was something unusual about it but then nothing more?”  
“Yes I think so, the press started off about 'another Muslim killing' and a couple of days later it was supposed to be a contract killing and there was nothing more -is that the one?”  
“Yes, that was it. I hadn't taken any real notice of the incident at the time but a couple of days after the shooting I had a call from the Military Police about a colleague. I am a good shot and qualified for my marksmanship badge soon after joining the Army, and as well as re-qualifying every year I take part in both Service and civilian competitions. Some of the competitions are for pairs and teams, and in one I was paired up with a young officer called Sandrine. We found our shooting styles suited one another and we shot together as a pair whenever we could.” George looked into Leanne's eyes and smiled, “My wife used to tease Sandrine by saying she was my mistress.”  
“What happened?” Leanne asked.  
“It turned out that Sandrine had shot this poor lad, she had been tricked into believing that the boy was a terrorist about commit a bombing and that she had to stop him. Perhaps I should have recognised the style; one shot to the head and three to the chest before he hit the ground, Sandrine was an amazing with a pistol as well as a rifle. He couldn't have known what hit him.”  
“How did you get involved?”  
“The Military Police called to see if I had heard from her, she had gone missing from her barracks in some distress having had drawn a pistol. She was being treated for Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder after an incident in Afghanistan and they were concerned for her safety. A few hours later they called again, she had been traced to a hotel by the civilian police searching for the boy's killer and they thought she was going to take her own life. They asked if I would be prepared to speak to her and I said I would; they said a civvie police car would take me to the hotel. By the time I had got my boss's okay the car had arrived at Main Building.” George took a long draught of his beer before continuing, “The drive was done terrifyingly fast with full blues-and-twos until the last mile or two, they really wanted to get me there quickly. By the time I got to the hotel -a scruffy Travelodge- they had quietly evacuated everybody else. I was taken straight to the room where a female detective was talking to her, with just a slight delay when I stopped to pick up a bar stool.”  
Leanne didn't say anything, she just let George tell his story.  
“I stood out of sight while the detective told me what had happened, then I asked Sandrine if I could come into the room and speak to her. Once I had convinced her that I wasn't trying to trick her, she allowed me to enter the room; I had agreed with the police that they wouldn't enter the room unless I called them. She was sitting on the bed with her pistol in her hands, and I placed the stool against the wall opposite her and sat down. I made sure she realised the the police were listening and asked her what had happened. She told me that a close family friend had persuaded her that the boy was planning a terrorist attack and it was vital that she should stop him. This friend had served alongside her father, and was trusted by both Sandrine and her mother, but she had come to realise that he had lied to her, and that she had murdered an innocent boy. She was getting increasingly distressed despite my attempts to calm her down; I saw her lift the pistol up towards her head with her finger on the trigger, and I threw myself across the room at her.” George looked at Leanne, taking in the look of horror on her face. “I had chosen the bar stool because it had a cross bar which I could rest my heels on...and push hard against. I landed heavily on her and managed to keep the pistol away from her head, we struggled for a moment and then the gun went off. The bullet went through the wall and at that moment the fight went out of her, her body went limp and she let go of the gun. I shouted out to the police that neither of us were hurt but they should stay back.” George paused again to drink. “I whispered to her that the best course of action was to give herself up, to admit to killing the boy and plead mitigating circumstances. I also promised to get the best defence team I could, even if I had to pay for it. She just nodded as she tried not to cry; I told her not to fight the tears. I stood up and removed the magazine from the pistol and threw it down by the door before working the action to remove the round from the breech. After putting both on the floor in view of the police, I told them that Captain Shaw was coming out. Once I got a legal team organised for her she gave the police a full account of what happened; because of her somewhat fragile mental state they allowed me to be present for the interviews. Events then took a rather strange turn as the security services managed to get themselves involved and the trial was held in camera.”  
George took another long draught of his beer before continuing. “I gave my evidence at an early stage and was able to sit in for the rest of the trial. The judge accepted that she had been tricked and that she thought she was helping to prevent an act of terrorism, and he took into account both her full co-operation with the police as well as her contrition. Although she had pleaded 'guilty' from the start of the trial the judge had to give her a life sentence, but he set the minimum tariff at only six years, which was better than any of us expected. I promised Sandrine that I would regularly visit her in prison; thankfully she's in Holloway so I don't have to travel too far, I make sure I see her at least once a month.”  
“Is she all right?”  
“Not really. She's the sort of officer who thrives on operations, she needs to be active. All she can do in prison is to study; I twisted the Open University's arm a little and they are allowing her to write a thesis towards a Master's degree.”  
“What is the subject?”  
“Would you believe the evolution of firearms, from black powder to the present day.”  
“That sounds the sort of thing an Army officer would study.”  
“Yes, and she has found that it helps her to cope with being in a prison. I keep getting messages from her to get a copy of a book that she needs which means a trip to Twickenham library or a bookshop. As you might have guessed I saw her today and she was quite low, I find it frustrating that I can't be of more help for her.”  
“Does anyone else visit her -family or friends?”  
“Not really. Her mother seems to have disowned her -she didn't even come to the trial. She doesn't have any other family as she was an only child. There is another officer -also a Captain- from her unit that visits her, but not regularly.”  
“You seem to care for her.” Leanne said as she reached her hand out to George's.  
“I suppose I do; a good officer always cares about their...troops. I know I wasn't her senior officer but I do think I have a duty of care towards her as we were both members of a team.”

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a 'Tip of the Hat' to Brigadier Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart.
> 
> Edited 30th August to correct some errors.  
Edited 16thSeptember to improve descriptions.


End file.
